Under the Wide and Starry Sky

CHAPTER 33

Two figures were hovering over Louis when he woke.
“Here he comes,” said one, an old man who leaned in close.

“Can you see me, mister?” said the other, whose face was as pocked as a beach stone. “You been out for days,” said the first. “We ‘bout took you for dead.” Louis looked around. It appeared he was in the upper chamber of a rustic cabin. “How
did I get here?” he asked.

“English,” the old one declared.

“Scottish,” Louis corrected. He tried feebly to sit up from the makeshift bed where he lay, but merely fell back.

“Oh,  you’re  goin’  nowhere  for  a  while,  mister,”  said  the  old  one. “You  gotta  eat
somethin’. Jesus Lord. Look at you.”


Louis looked down at his naked, ribby chest. “What foul paste have you gilded me with, gentlemen?”

“Man talks like a book,” said the pocked one.

The elder fellow aimed a ?inty blue eye toward Louis, daring him to complain further. “You itch, buddy?”

Louis thought about it. “No.”

“Damn stu? works, even when a fella’s been ?ayed as bad as you.” The man laughed, exposing a naked upper gum on one side. “It’s bear grease and some other surprises. Tom’s own recipe,” he said, nodding toward a fellow in the background who appeared to be an Indian.

“How long have I been here?”

“Four days, and mostly not here,” the old one said.  “What the devil is a man like you doin’ knocked out under a tree on this ranch?”

“First, sir, what is your name?”

“Cap’n Anson Smith. This here’s my partner, Jonathan Wright.” “I am Louis Stevenson. And I thank you both for saving my life.” “Oh, that ain’t decided yet.”

Tom came forward with a steaming cup. “Tea,” he said. “Drink it.”

“You was cold when we found you,” Smith said.  “Now you got yourself a ?ne fever.”

Louis saw a look pass between Smith and Wright. “Did you mean to just go o? and die?” The captain’s voice was soft and respectful, as if he would understand such an impulse.
“I like to go camping out, take in the air.” Louis smiled at the old man’s look of disbelief. “And … I had little funds for an inn.”

“Or grub, looks like.”

“Captain of what, sir?” Louis asked.

“Army. Mexican war. Only thing I shoot now is bears.” He laughed at his own wit. “Me and him raise goats here,” Wright said. “Angoras. What’s your line?” “Writer chap.”

Wright ran a knobby hand across his mustache. “Is there a woman somewheres in this?” Louis began to explain about the train trip, but a coughing ?t took him for a good ?ve
minutes. The two men eyed him warily. “No more talking till tomorrow,” Smith said.
Louis lay on the cot in the upper chamber, coughing between sips of the tea. Inside his head, the Paci?c Ocean thundered unceasingly. He remembered, foggily, the state he was in when he hired a horse and wagon in Monterey. His heart felt cracked in half, and his mind was gone to shards from the itching skin. He set out into the countryside bent on relief. At one point in his hill wandering, he reached into his pants to see what he had left. “Pocket-cured nuts,” he said out loud, and shared with the horse what was in his palm. His money was all but gone. When he collapsed under the tree, he wasn’t entirely sure. He recalled lying in a stupor, only getting up to water the horse during the time—how long, two days?—that he lay there. Aside from the peanuts, he had consumed only co?ee. He lost consciousness at some point and was awakened brie?y by a tinkling sound, which turned out to be little bells attached to collars on some goats that had gathered around him to have a look. He could picture himself now as he had been when he was found—the fool on the heath with a horse, a herd of puzzled goats, and Cap’n Smith all staring at him.
Exhausted by the coughing, Louis felt too weak to lift his own head. Tom was watching and approached to prop him up and spoon soup into his mouth. Louis was touched by the kindness of these weathered frontiersmen. As he began to doze, he sent o? a mental thankyou into the ether that the terrible itch was truly, truly gone.

The days that followed were marked by other people coming and going around him. Captain Smith and Tom brought infused teas and soups and progressively more solid food, while a pair of little girls visited from time to time to have a look at him. When he was less

muddled, he learned that he’d been brought to Wright’s house, one of two rustic cabins in a clearing surrounded by a circle of big shade trees and, beyond that, hills dotted with pines and hundreds of goats. Louis could not see the open main room on the ?rst ?oor from where he lay, but he woke to the snap of kindling in the dawn ?re, smelled co?ee and frying  eggs,  and  felt  the  pulse  of  frontier  farm  life  through  the  remaining  day,  until darkness quieted the family and the tinkling of bells outside.

Obviously missing was the woman of the house. Mrs. Wright was away due to illness, and in her absence, her curious little daughters appeared to have nothing more to do than gape at Louis, like every other creature in this place. When he discovered neither could read, he set out to teach them how to decipher words. Mornings thereafter, with ?ies buzzing all around, he gave them a lesson, followed by a story.

One day he recited a little poem he’d written not long ago. “More,” the smaller girl said.

“All right,” Louis replied. “This one is longer, if I can remember it.”

When I was sick and lay a-bed,

I had two pillows at my head, And all my toys beside me lay, To keep me happy all the day.

The children tittered at the rhyme. “Another,” the older one chimed. “Oh, this one keeps going,” Louis said.

And sometimes for an hour or so

I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes, through the hills …

Louis paused. “I’ve forgotten the rest.” he sighed, and looked around. Every face was at attention.

“Ah,” he said. “Let’s see.”

And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about.

I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow-hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane.”

When he ?nished, to the giggles and claps of the girls, he felt as if he had just sent a tiger through a fiery hoop.

“You done good there,” said Smith, who had been watching. “I can tell you, they ain’t the easiest audience.”

Louis glowed.

“You always been sick?” Smith asked after he chased the children outside to feed some goats.

“Not always.” Louis waved a hand weakly. “Aye, a lot. Bad in the lungs.” The captain scratched his cheek. “We’re goin’ to get you into town soon as you’re able.
You’ve run through my kit out here. Maybe next week. There’s a doc in Monterey could help you. We’ll see.”